


She's the What?

by ChelleyPam



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Revolution (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:49:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7490295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChelleyPam/pseuds/ChelleyPam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There has been no sign of the Matheson's for years.  Monroe is still searching for his brother when he gets wind of a new trade resource a reasonable distance north from his city.  Only this resource has a familiar name attached to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask me where this came from. I don't fucking know. It's likely to be more than a little crack-y considering that we're talking about mixing Revolution with one of the best RPG games ever brought to PC.

Sebastian Monroe handed the reins of his mount to the young corporal who'd hustled up from the line stand by his side. The kid took Strausser's reins as well. Monroe gave the sergeant a nod, indicating for him to follow. Together they walked towards the old barn that had been renovated into a smithy. The double doors were open to allow air to circulate and they could see the young woman tending the forge. 

Her hair was pulled into a braided rope that trailed down her back. At the scalp it was dark with sweat but grew more golden the further down the braid went until the tail of it kissed the top of a firm, round ass atop long, lean legs. The muscles of her back were molded by the sweat damp shirt and he saw the definition in her right arm as she pulled the chain to the bellows to stoke the coals. 

“I'm guessing you're the blacksmith I've been hearing so much about.” He looked around the building. There were nails, wheel rims and tools, but the swords caught his eye. Gleaming steel in various styles, all of them looking better than most of what his guys had been able to come up with. He walked over and took down a saber that was in the style he preferred. Excellent balance and it fit his hand beautifully.

The woman looked at him. Grey-blue eyes that were warmer than that ice bitch, Rachel, but her mother's cheekbones and basic oval shape. The jawline and wary, studious look were pure Matheson. Who knew where she got those blow job lips from. 

“I am.” She set aside the half-forged blade, still clutched in a pair of heavy tongs, and pulled her protective gloves from her hands. “Charlotte Matheson.” She moved forward, hand extended. He shook it, noting the callouses that weren't just from smithing but also indicative that she knew her way around those swords she was making. 

She released his hand and looked from him to Strausser and back. “I thought your man last month got everything squared away with Aaron. The harvest is on track and he and Danny are putting the finishing touches on the textile setup.”

“This isn't about the cotton harvest, although I am glad to hear about it. Cold weather cotton. Georgia has had us over a barrel for a while now. I wish I could see Foster's face when she finds out that our usual import is going to be cut by more than half next year.” He allowed himself a slight smile. Learning that someone had found a type of cotton that grew in the colder climates of the north had been a excellent news. His men advised that Aaron Pittman, formerly of Google fame pre-Blackout, was now starting a cotton plantation halfway between Hershey and Palmyra. Like all cotton it was a perennial, but unlike the southern variety they didn't have to disc it under and replant every year to avoid disease and boll weevils. The first two years had been mainly to grow more seeds to increase the number of plants. This third year would finally have enough to sell, and the Republic had called dibs.

“No, I was more interested in you. Charlotte Matheson. I'm Sebastian Monroe.” He looked her way again, trying to find something of the toddler who had once had him and Miles play princess tea party with her and failing. “You wouldn't be Ben Matheson's daughter by any chance, would you?”

He noted the slight pause. “You know my father?”

He shrugged. “We grew up in the same town. I was closer to his younger brother, Miles. We were the same age. Inseperable. Even enlisted in the Marines together.” He studied the sword in his hands. “This is a work of art. It truly is.”

“Thank you.” He felt her eyes move over him. “Looks like you prefer dual work.”

“Usually.”

She moved over to another wall and took down a sword that was slightly shorter but roughly the same style. “Try this one for your off hand.” She offered it to him hilt first. 

Bass tested both swords in his hands, both equally beautiful, then ran them through some practice runs. “Wow. Like silk. I like the guards, plenty of coverage without being confining. You know, none of my guys can do something this good. It's been a struggle to relearn the art after the Blackout.”

“So I hear.” She leaned up against a worktable, arms folded over her chest. “So you grew up with my dad and my uncle...Miles, you said?”

“Yeah. You don't know your uncle's name?”

She shook her head. “Don't remember having an uncle. I don't remember Dad ever talking about him.”

“How is Ben these days?” That was what he really wanted to know. That and where Miles was.

She shrugged. “Dead, as far as we know.”

Damn. “Dead? What happened?”

Charlotte took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Too much. We lost Mom first, she went off to get supplies and didn't come back. After a while Dad met someone else. Her name was Maggie. She was a doctor from some place...Britain, I think. She'd been over here for a medical conference and got stuck when the power went out. One day she was going out to check on a family that had three kids down with Chicken Pox. Dad went with her to help and me and Danny were left with Aaron, who was practically family.” She took another steadying breath. “Then there were storms. A twister. We never saw Dad or Maggie again.”

There was pain in her eyes when she spoke of it. She was telling the truth.

“And Ben never said anything about Miles. Not even to Pittman, apparently, or he would have brought you to Philadelphia. No need for a stranger to have to raise you and Danny.”

That made her bristle a bit. “Aaron is family. He may not be blood, but he's family.”

Bass held his hands up in placation. “No offense meant. It's just that until about six years ago Miles was in Philly with me. He would have been more than willing to take the two of you in. Hell, Ben should have come to Philadelphia long ago. The door was always open. I guess some bridges are just hard to rebuild.”

Charlotte frowned. “Did something happen between Dad and his brother?”

“You could say that. Uhm... you mother did. She and Miles had an affair not long after she and Ben got married. It had been over for some time, he broke it off. Miles couldn't keep screwing his brother's wife. She offered to leave Ben for him, get a divorce and wait for Miles to get back from deployment, but he wouldn't have it. Told her to go back to her husband and start a family.”

“Wow. Uhm...no offense, but I don't know you and you just show up and say that my mother screwed around on her husband with his younger brother. Why should I believe you?”

He hesitated a moment. Just a moment. “Because Rachel didn't die out looking for supplies, Charlotte. She went back to Miles. She came to Philly.” He let that set in a bit. “Look, the real reason I came here to see you for myself was that I hoped maybe you knew where Miles is. There was an accident six years ago, involving your mom. Miles...he lost it. It shattered him. He took off and we haven't seen him since.”

She seemed to be mulling it all over. “I'm sorry, like I said, Dad didn't talk about him. I guess he didn't mention him to Aaron either, because knowing Mom might still be alive would have had him taking us to Philadelphia.”

Bass nodded at that, apparently conceding the wisdom of it. He moved a few steps closer, lowering his voice. “I'm worried about Miles. He has a tendency to go off the rails when he's hurt. Tries to drown himself in the bottle. That sort of thing. I've got a reward out for finding him and bringing him home, alive only. If you hear anything about him, anything at all.” He tapered off as if giving his words consideration. “You may not remember Miles, but I'm sure he remembers you. He thought the world of you when you were young. If he gets word of you being out here, maybe he'll show up. If he does...just try to understand that it takes two people to have an affair, and he did try to do the right thing by Ben. Me, you and Danny...we're all he has left.”

“Well, if some guy claiming to be my long lost uncle Miles turns up, I'll be sure to let you know.”

He offered her a smile. “Thank you.” She really was gorgeous. He'd never known what the Matheson boys saw in Rachel, but he had to admit she was lovely. Her daughter, however, put the bitch to shame. She lacked her mother's haughtiness. That holier-than-thou air she always maintained. Charlotte wasn't afraid to get dirty, as demonstrated by her choice of profession. She was young, beautiful and strong. If it wasn't for wanting to keep a clear field for Miles to wander into, he'd find an excuse to stay in the area and get to know her better. “How much do I owe you for the swords?”

She kept her eyes on his, like a fighter wanting to be able to judge her opponent's next move. “Keep them. You're practically family yourself, after all. And I can make more.”

His smile widened. “Thank you, Charlotte. Truly.” He stepped back. “I should be getting back to camp. We break down and head back to Philly in the morning. It was really good to see you again. Good to know you're still alive. Danny, too. With all his health problems when he was born...well, him still being around is nothing short of a miracle. I'd like to invite you both to come with Pittman when he brings the goods to the city. I'd really love to show you around.”

“I'll consider it, but someone should stick around to watch the home place.”

“Of course.” He motioned for Strausser to come with him. “I'll see you around, Charlotte.”

It wasn't until they reached the horses that Strausser spoke up. “You think she's telling the truth?”

“Yeah, I do. Ben's gone, which is bad for us. We'll have to increase the pressure on Rachel, though now we can let her know we know exactly where her kids are and how easily we can get our hands on Danny if need be.”

“Just the boy?”

Bass kept his back to the barn. They were far away, but he didn't' want to risk any possible lip reading skills. “Rachel was always stupid over the boy. She barely acknowledged Charlie's existence after he was born. I always figured that was because she's really good at math and knew there was very little chance she was Ben's. That little girl was Miles all over. Not her fault her mother is a vindictive bitch.” He shook his head. “And she doesn't know where Miles is.”

“How do you want to proceed?”

“Make sure this place is kept under watch. Nothing too obvious. Mix some guys in with the workers during harvest or the milling process. We'll make sure word gets out that General Matheson's niece and nephew have turned up as orphans. See how long it takes him to come find them. If he knew about them, there's no way he'd let them be this close to Philly.”

“And if he doesn't show up?”

Bass mounted his horse and looked back to the barn. Charlotte was already reheating the sword she'd been working on. His new blades truly were works of art. His guys back at headquarters were not going to appreciate being shown up by a woman. “Then we work on bringing the Matheson siblings to Philadelphia anyway. No sense in letting a woman like that go to waste. I can think of other things that would be far more beneficial to the Republic than leaving her here as a black smith or her winding up married to some dirt farmer.”

~***~

Contrary to what Sebastian Monroe thought, Daniel Matheson would not have been an easy capture. It was actually quite wise on his part not to try it that day, because Danny was not in a good mood.

“Damn it all to hell!” He sent a bolt of flame towards the spell reinforced all of Charlotte's smithy later that night.

“Hey! Don't burn down my shop, you idiot!” She glared at him and shoved a tankard of summer ale into his hands. “I take it still no good.”

Her brother sighed and sat down. “No, still not working.”

“I can fight just as well without an en-spelled blade, Danny.”

“True, but having one that can do frost or fire damage is nice.”

“It's not like I run the risk of fighting anyone who has a magic sword. Hell, I doubt I'll run across anyone who even has magic. They don't exactly believe in it here.”

Aaron came in with a basket filled with sandwiches and fresh apples. “Still no luck with finding an alternative to soul stones?” Danny only grumbled incoherently in response. “Thought not.”

“I don't see why you're so worked up about it, Danny. This isn't Skyrim. This isn't Tamriel. It's just plain old Earth. No wizards or necromancers or piece of shit enchanters to worry about anymore.”

“I was one of those piece of shit enchanters, thank you very much. And I liked my craft.” Her younger brother glared at her as he grabbed a sandwich. “And how do you know we wont eventually run into one. Hell, if anyone got the notes from the mage college, one of them may very well come here, thinking this place is ripe for the picking. And they'd be right. These people wouldn't be able to stand up to a skilled wizard. One guy with a decent number of spells under his belt could enslave thousands. A group of them working together could take over an entire continent. I bet then you'd be wishing you could enchant your swords and bows again.”

Charlie took a sandwich for herself. “Find anything out about what that Monroe guy said?”

Aaron snorted. “Yeah. That 'Monroe guy' is Sebastian Monroe, President of the Monroe Republic and Commanding General of the Militia. And from what I pieced together, he's only the general because your dear uncle Miles deserted about six years back. They've got an alive only bounty on him.”

“How much?”

Aaron waited until she was mid-sip from her tankard. “Twenty-five pounds of gold.” He grinned as she choked.

“Twenty-five _pounds_! Damn, he really does want him back.”

Danny finished his first sandwich and got another. “Uncle Miles must be one hell of a general.”

“I think he pretty much built the army. And he's the main reason they've conquered as much territory as they have.”

“Is he the reason they're mostly a bunch of dicks, too? I mean, seriously, it's like they're all channeling Thalmor Justiciars or something.”

Charlie shook her head. “Nah, the Thalmor would only be concerned with whether or not you're worshipping Talos. Or whatever deity would be on the no-pray list here.”

“They pretty much let anyone in. It was a big thing back in the day of the US government.” Aaron sighed. “If it weren't for the warmer climate and the lack of everyone trying to kill us, I'd really miss Skyrim.”

“Oh, sure, let's head back.” Charlie rolled her eyes. “I'd love to go back to everyone and their 'help us, Dragonborn' and 'save us, Dragonborn'. Every day we stayed after Alduin's death put me this much closer to wanting to run off to High Hrothgar to live with the Greybeards behind closed doors. Not to mention everyone wanting me to pick sides in that stupid civil war. Both sides with their corruption problems. Ulfric Stormcloak blinded by his hatred of the Altmer that he failed to see the other Mer were completely different and would even have been willing to join him if he wasn't such a racist bastard. The Imperials bending over and taking it up the ass from the Thalmor, apparently completely blind to the fact that the Altmer are just biding their time until they're strong enough to strike again and this time finish the job.” She snorted. “The best thing I could have done for Skyrim would have been to crush both sides and put Balgruuf as High King. He and Ravencrone were the only two sensible Jarls out of the whole lot.”

“It was that way in the game, too.” Aaron often said that. Or he said 'that was nothing like the game.' He'd geeked out when he'd realized that the storm had somehow transported them to Skyrim, a place that only should have existed on PC and consoles before the Blackout. Charlie had been just shy of fourteen then. A bit over a year later he'd lost his shit when Charlie had been thrown from a horse and knocked unconscious, only to be captured as a suspected Stormcloak sympathiser and hauled off to Helgen for execution. Fifteen-year-old Charlie ended up spared from the headsman's axe by an attack by Alduin, a massive black dragon. That event set of a chain of events that forced her to spend the next six years studying, practicing, dungeon and crypt delving and all other manner of things to get strong enough, tough enough and powerful enough to face Alduin again. That battle was to the death, and it very nearly killed her as well. She barely remembered stumbling down from the Throat of the World and into the waiting arms of her brother and foster-father, her task finally completed.

They could have stayed in Skyrim. She was a hero there, well respected by most and feared by everyone else. They'd been wealthy, too. Danny had grown stronger and eventually learned enough Restoration magic to heal his weak lungs. He and Aaron both had studied at the college in Winterhold, though Aaron also spent a good deal of time studying the old Dwemer ruins to figure out how their steam powered machinery could be adapted. All of them knew some magic, though Charlie knew less than the men. All of them had a firm grounding in alchemy. Charlie had learned a good deal of smithing so she could see to the repair of her weapons and armor. They could have had a good life there.

But she was no friend of the Thalmor. There had been the constant pressure from both sides of the civil war to back one of them. Then, worst of all, there had been the increasingly not-so-subtle hints from Ulfric Stormcloak that he was looking for a wife. She was young, healthy, not unattractive and the Dragonborn. What better way to further solidify his claim to the position of High King than to have her as his wife.

No thank you.

Not gonna happen.

Get me the hell out of Skyrim.

Eventually a group of mages who had been fascinated by how the trio had gotten to Tamriel in the first place managed to piece together a sound theory of how to send them back. Desperate to 'Get out of Dodge' (Aaron never did explain what that meant) they had liquidated most of their property, gotten four sturdy Skyrim mounts (they were often mistaken as Clydesdales here) loaded up on seeds, cuttings, books, precious metals, gems and supplies and made use of the experimental portal. 

It had worked, in case anyone missed that part. Goodbye Skyrim. Hello some abandoned town in Ohio. Eventually they'd made their way to where they were now, having found a deserted farm with plenty of fertile soil that had once apparently been a dairy ranch. Aaron said the farmers likely produced milk for the Hersheys chocolate company, though neither of the Matheson siblings remembered what chocolate was. They were able to grow most of the plants they'd brought with them, and the tundra cotton so common in Skyrim turned out to be a brilliant addition here. It grew in the cooler climate where the cotton native to this world was more of a tropical plant and its production in the Monroe Republic was being eagerly welcomed. Apparently the Georgia Federation charged a small fortune for their cotton, so a northern supply source was a godsend. 

“So, we may still have family around here. An uncle who screwed our mother, though His Presidency did point out it takes two to have an affair.”

“It's just 'the President'. He's not royalty, though I hear this Monroe guy would like to be. I can't believe Ben never mentioned his brother to me, though if he suspected that your mother left to be with him I can see where he might be touchy about it.”

“Yeah,” Danny said with a dry voice as he sliced an apple, “not feeling the warm and fuzzies for Mom right now. I mean, we were just kids and she walked out on us? What kind of a mother fucking does that? Charlie was a much better mom.”

“Get your feet off the coal bin. You'll track dust into the house.”

He blew kisses her way, but got his feet off her coal bin.

“So we keep our eyes open for this uncle of yours. In the mean time, I wouldn't go trusting too many of Monroe's men. I wouldn't trust too many people, period. I've heard rumblings about a rebellion. Blowing up camps and raiding supply wagons. That sort of thing. The whole idea of leaving Skyrim was to avoid being pulled into a civil war. I'd rather not get drug into this one if we can avoid it. And I really think we want to avoid the Militia finding about our more exotic skill sets.”

“So no throwing fireballs, calling down lightening or Shouting people through walls. Got it.”

“Technically only Charlie can do that last one.” 

“Just...keep the magic stuff under wraps. We don't want to draw undue attention to ourselves.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Three months later..._

Aaron was sipping strong tea with a little kick as he stood by the work table he and Danny had moved to the front veranda the previous night. They had started harvesting three days earlier and so far it was going well. He marked off the eastern quadrant as finished. One down, three to go.

“Excuse me. They guys in the field said I should come up here about possible work?”

He looked up to find a stranger standing just at the foot of the steps. He was tall with a wiry build and a head of dark, unruly hair. His eyes looked...dead. As though life had beaten everything out of him and had only left a husk behind. Aaron had seen a lot of eyes like that since the Blackout, both here and in Skyrim. 

“That would be so.” Aaron reached out and took hold of the ledger he was using to keep track of the workers. “We can definitely use more hands. Name?”

“Stu Redman.”

Aaron looked up with a chuckle. “Really? Well, at least I know you're literate. And what's the use of an apocalypse if you can't use it to reinvent yourself, right?” He wrote the name down. “You ever pick cotton?”

“No, can't say that I have.”

“Come with me. I'll walk with you over to the field and get you set up. I'm afraid you missed breakfast, but they'll be hauling out lunch in another couple of hours. You get two meals a day, breakfast starting a dawn and lunch starting a noon. Even up here it gets hot, so keep hydrated. We make sure there's plenty of water. We boil it for at least thirty minutes before letting it cool and and putting it out there, so it's safe.”

Stu had no trouble keeping up with him thanks to the longer legs and they made it to the main work wagon in no time. Aaron kept talking as he opened a crate in the back of the wagon. “Now the cotton flower, when it curls back to make room for the cotton boll, dries and hardens. The damn things will cut your fingers to ribbons, so look in here a find a pair of work gloves that will fit you. I recommend wearing them at all times if you want to keep your hands.” He pulled out a long white cloth bag. “Just wear this around your torso and put the cotton inside as you pick it. When the bag gets too heavy to keep moving with you, bring it back here and pick up another one.”

Redman nodded as he searched through the gloves until he found a pair that would fit his long fingered hands. “What about pay?”

“Base pay of the equivalent of twenty Republic dollars per day with a bonus fifty cents for every pound harvested, paid in gold. You get paid at the end of the work day. If you don't have a place to stay, a lot of people camp out in the old barns on the western side of the property or on the fields we haven't planted.”

That made the taller man blink. “Not bad. Good wages for these days.”

“Monroe is paying well to keep us here, and still saving money compared to what he'd be giving Georgia. And good wages decreases the chance of theft by workers.” Aaron gave him a bright smile. “Welcome aboard, Stu. Harold over there is the foreman, so if you have any questions, just ask him. If you have any problems with Harold, you come speak to me or to Charlie down at the forge.” He pointed to a large barn to the west with smoke coming out of a trio of pipes. 

“I'll do that, and thanks for the job.”

“My pleasure.” Aaron waved to Harold in passing before heading back to the house. The harvest was falling into place. Twenty years ago he was enjoying himself by constructing new lines of code and helping the online community grow. He'd had eighty-four million dollars in the bank, a beautiful wife who loved him just because he was smart and a private jet. Now he was starting all over...with cotton.

The money wasn't a big deal for Aaron, though. He just wanted a good life. One with no draugar or skeletons and especially no fucking dragons.

~***~

“Motherfucker!”

Miles looked up from the row he was picking, his sack already a third of the way full. The foreman kicked at a downed wagon with a heavy work boot. So that's what the crunching sound had been.

Harold looked up and spied you. “You! New guy! Get over here!”

Miles hoisted up his cotton sack and walked over. “Can I help?”

“Yeah, help me strap these busted wheels to this horse and then take them over to the smithy.” The thicker man was already working on unfastening the first of the broken wheels. “We have to scavenge what's available, but the years since the Blackout has rotted most everything. Charlie'll fix these up, though. Girl's a damn genius.”

Miles very carefully did not let anything show on his face as he helped detach the wheels and tie them to the back of the massive Clydesdale. The horse was well trained, but probably would rather carry two wheels than pull an entire wagon anyway. Harold took his sack, stating he'd be sure to weigh what he'd done so far, and sent him on his way.

The smithy was in what looked to be an old dairy barn. She was sharpening the blade of a sickle blade, her foot working the treadle as she did so. Miles paused a moment inside the door to just take her in. She moved with the practiced assurity that comes with knowing your craft. Granted, he'd never have thought of his little Charlie becoming a blacksmith, but here she was. Not for too long, though. She still had a defined bust line where heavy upper body work like smithing eventually replaced soft breast tissue with muscle and left women with a more masculine torso. 

He took a breath and cleared this throat. She looked up, blue-grey eyes bright with curiosity and quickly followed by a smile. “Hi! Sorry, I was kind of distracted.” She set the blade down and got up from the grind stone, dusting her gloved hands off on her pants. “What did you bring me?”

“Wheels off a wagon that's seen its better days.” 

Her nose scrunched up in a cute way. “Yeah, we're seeing a lot that.” She came over to help him unfasten the wheels and take them off of the horse. He was surprised at her strength. Up close he could see the muscle definition in her arms and upper back and he liked that. A man with ill intentions would be hard pressed to force her into anything. How could he not like that?

“Yeah, these spokes are rotten. They're not going to carry shit.” She started testing the individual spokes. “The rim is rusted through in a few spots, too. Ah, this one is somewhat decent.” She pulled out a spoke that wasn't as much of a goner and stood up. “I'm Charlie, by the way.”

He almost told her his real name, but held back. He wasn't sure what she knew of his reputation and didn't know where she stood in the current climate. “Stu.”

“Well, Stu, come lend me a hand. We're going to have to make a lot of these.”

She started by, of all things, filling a large kettle with water and setting it onto a bot bellied stove she then stoked. He watched, curious, as she set a long box with a hole in the bottom over the spout. She saw his questioning look and smiled. “Hot box.” She grabbed some long strips of wood and put them inside of the box. “The steam will make the wood more pliable so we can bend it to frame the rims.”

“Ah.” He never really paid much attention to how the guys who had tried to relearn smithing to keep their gear working. 

She'd set up a pretty nice shop for herself. The forge, anvil and grindstone were standard fare. They'd also set up a rig to melt down scrap metal. Once that was done, the molten steel could be poured into a variety of molds for various sizes of blades and tools, giving her a rough template she could then hone and shape into whatever she wanted. 

She'd also made a lathe, which it what they were going to use to make the spokes. She used the one salvageable spoke as a template and his job was to ladle water from a bucket onto the belt to prevent friction from breaking it. She made him wear eye protection and a bandana over his nose and mouth to prevent him from inhaling sawdust, just as she did. Apparently safety was important to her.

They worked together in easy companionship, turning out new spokes until a call out from the front of the building drew their attention. Miles saw a young man around Charlie's age with a floppy mop of blond hair carrying a basket with a grin. “Steal yourself a lackey, Sis?”

“Yep. He was just so gosh darn cute I had to keep him.” Charlie stopped the lathe and pulled off her gloves as Miles snorted in amusement. “Stu, this is my kid brother, Danny. Danny, Stu.”

He studied the kid closely. It had never occurred to and that Danny might survive the Blackout. The kid had been born with too many health problems. He would have bet good money that the boy wouldn't have made it past the first year. Now here he stood with a healthy tan to his skin, a frame that had filled out nicely and looking like the poster boy for good health. 

“I brought your dinner down. The foreman already updated Aaron that you probably grabbed Stu here, so he'll get paid for being your assistant rather than for picking.” He grinned at Miles. “Don't worry. It's better money. You get paid extra for having to put up with her.”

Charlie took the basket of food from her brother before kicking him with a booted foot firmly planted to his hip. The younger sibling laughed as he caught his balance and saluted them both before heading out.

~***~

Miles didn't head towards the rest area until almost full dark. The main buildings were pretty full, but there were a couple of places where he could sack out on his bed roll.

“Hey, new guy,” spoke up a thirty-something man who still had a good number of his teeth set in the tanned, leathery skin of his face. “If you're gonna sack out here, hit the showers first.”

“Showers?”

The three guys in the area he had picked pointed over to the opposite wall where two doors were marked to differentiate between men and women. 

“One of the benefits of all this steam power they're using. Tons of hot water and pressure. You might still get a decent temperature out of the heads.” That sounded heavenly. Miles moved his hand out of reflex to catch the threadbare towel someone tossed him. “There's plenty of soap in the stalls and the main rush is over so you can take your time if you want. You're practically drooling.”

It was amazing. The facility had been thrown together quickly, but was sturdy. There were basins where you could wash out your dirty clothes and the home made soap was a fragrant mix of rosemary and mint. Miles let the clothes he'd been wearing soak as he took advantage of the hot water from the showers, letting it relax and soothe his aching and sore muscles. He even took time too shave properly, since he was the last to use the showers that day. He lathered up and rinsed off three times, enjoying the feeling of being truly clean for the first time in months. 

He slipped on his only other set of clothes, which were quite a bit cleaner than what he'd been Waring earlier, and finished with his laundry. He wrung the clothes out until they were damp and not dripping, remembering that there were lines hung in every sleeping area that were likely meant just for this purpose. Sure enough, when he got back out there his mates had hung up their clothes and towels. He did the same with his before settling in to sleep.

He was already off to dreamland for an hour or so and thus didn't notice the slim figure who made his way through the sleeping areas and out of the bunk house into the night.

~***~

_Skyrim, approximately three weeks after Charlie's 15th birthday_

Aaron saw the movement in the peripheral and looked up out of reflex. Balgruuf had come down from his throne and was taking the seat next to him. 

“Here, have some mead. Honningbrew. None of that Blackbriar swill.”

The knowledge that Maven Blackbriar would likely be paying someone to sabotage Honningbrew sometime in the near future fluttered over his thoughts. Aaron pushed it down and accepted the mug. “Thank you.”

“You look worried. The girl is your daughter?”

He shook his head. “They're father was a good friend of mine. I took over raising them when we lost him.”

“Ah! Good man. Not many would open their homes to orphans.” The jar looked behind his shoulder where Danny was talking to the court wizard. “How did you know to send young Charlotte and her Stormcloak companion after the tablet?”

Aaron stared into the tankard and thought of how to answer. What should he tell the other man. Eventually, he decided to give as much of the truth as possible. “I...know things. You might call them prophecies. I had hoped they were just...stories. Made up things, then Helgen happened. Just as I thought it might.”

That caught the Jarl's attention. “What sort of things? Things about the dragons?”

“Yeah, a lot about the dragons. But...I'd rather not say just yet.”

“Why? If you can give me anything that can help protect my people...”

“Because I'm hoping Helgen was a one off. I'm hoping that...I just don't want to be right about the watch tower.”

The taller, stronger and more imposing man looked ready to strike him. “If you know something, you should speak of it! These dragons are dangerous! They threaten the people and the land! If you were right about Helgen, then you should tell me what you know of the watch tower! I have good mean there!”

“The dragon will die. His name is Mirmulnir. Allegiance Strong Hunt. They kill him. I don't know how many of them will die in the fight.”

“Then what is it you fear, man?”

Aaron didn't want to answer. He didn't have to. Before Balgruuf could continue to press him,, there was a sound like thunder that shook the very foundation of Dragonreach.

**DOV! AH! KIIN!**

Aaron closed his eyes tightly. Everyone else was staring upwards as though the ceiling might have answers.

“By Talos, what was that?”

He sighed. “That was the Greybeards. They are summoning the Dragonborn to High Hrothgar.” His voice was flat as he poured more mead into his tankard. 

Balgruuf gaped at him, taking in the morose expression and the pain in his eyes. “Shor's bones. It's the girl. It's your Charlotte. That's what you didn't want to be right about.”

“Maybe not.” His protest sounded weak, even to him. “It might be Ralof, or one of your men. Maybe it's Irelith. She's tough. Knows her way around a fight.” He downed half his tankard in one pull.. “She's not barely fifteen.”

Balgruuf put a heavy hand on his shoulder. “If it is as you fear, I will help. She will need good gear and proper weapons, I can provide those. That Stormcloak soldier doubtless needs to get back to Windhelm, but I can provide a good, strong fighter to go with her. I will make her a Thane of my city and give her a house carl to aid her. I'll make it Lydia. She learned with the Companions and can help teach her during their travels, and it is better that a pretty girl like Charlotte travel with another woman rather than worry about a male companion.”

“Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf. That is very kind of you.”

“What will you and the boy do?”

Aaron looked back at Danny who was now discussing the call with Farengar. “I'll take him to Winterhold to study. Charlie...before this is over she's going to need things that only the college can provide. And it wouldn't hurt him to learn how to defend himself. He'll never be a swordsman or a strong physical fighter, but he's got a knack of magic.”

Nords didn't fully trust magic, even though most soldiers learned a basic healing spell and a lot of them learned how to throw fire. Nords, like the Vikings they resembled, preferred swords, war hammers and axes. They were brute force fighters, something Danny would never be.

Still, Aaron knew what was coming, or at least what happened in the game of Skyrim. If Charlie was the one who absorbed Mirmulnir's soul, and he suspected that she was, then the upcoming years were going to be hard on all of them. On Charlie most of all.

Aaron rested his head in his hands and started stirring his memories of playing the game. He was making a list of what she should avoid and what she needed to pay attention to in order to survive what was coming. He made his list, and waited for Charlie to return from the battle.


End file.
